Nightlife (Cal Leandros #1)(68)

We'd thought we had the whole thing wrapped up with the half-breed. But Caliban had thrown a kink in it and good, the little shit. I grinned and patted my own chest with affection. My little shit now. He'd proved stubborn, both mentally and physically. Cooperation wasn't top on his list when he was still sane; it didn't shoot up any higher when he hopped aboard the loony-mobile. Not that that would've stopped the Auphe. But where that wouldn't, his physical failings did. He couldn't open a gate. His nervous system, inner battery… what-the-hell-ever… it just couldn't flip that switch. It was not mature enough, not sufficiently developed, to make that jump. The Auphe's only option was to wait, and wait they did… right up to the moment baby Cal opened his first real gate and took off. Now that… that had been hilarious. Too bad he didn't remember any of it. Killing his father and escaping under the nose of the Auphe, good times. Good times.

But it was four years later and Cal's run was over. Now it was simply a matter of opening that gate to the past. It was too late now for the Auphe to prevail against the bubbling mass of mankind, but before, when humans were few and far between, they'd be fish in a barrel. The in-the-know future Auphe would join the blissfully clueless past Auphe and that would be all she wrote for Harry Human. The Auphe wouldn't have to wipe them all out—95 percent would probably be enough. They were damn good playthings. No reason to throw out the baby with the bathwater, right?

Then life for the rest of us would become as it had been in the beginning. The humans would be huddled in huts or caves. Once again they would dread every rattle at their door, knowing that it could be the wind or… it could be us. Heady stuff, fear. It was the appetite teaser that sharpened the taste of violence and blood.

I would kiss the electric blankets good-bye, sad to say, but sometimes you had to suck it up and take the bad with the good. It was going to be a piece of cake. Smooth sailing.

Yeah, smooth sailing. Was I wrong to think they probably had that embossed on the Titanic's cocktail napkins?

Turned out that, as usual, I was not wrong. When things go well, you should be suspicious. When things go exceptionally well, start sniffing for the dog crap on the bottom of your shoe. Or in this case the dog crap at your front door.

I'd given the fur balls my hotel address for a report on Little Red Riding Hood and the next morning I was eagerly awaiting word. That is, if "eagerly" could be defined as laid up in the Jacuzzi, drinking wine and smoking the richest tobacco that room service had to offer. Hearing the less-than-discreet scratch of claws at the door, I blew a plume of cigar smoke at the arched ceiling and called out, "Come on in. The water's fine." I heard the measured tread of two feet slowly approach the bathroom. Seconds later Wolfgang was in the doorway, blood and bruises barely hidden by a long, ratty coat. When he winced and spat red phlegm on the floor, I could see several teeth shattered to splinters. Fang was conspicuously absent. This was not good.

"Well, well, look who's back, tail between his legs." I dumped the cigar in the wineglass and went straight to the bottle. "Looks like someone got his furry ass kicked," I said coldly. Propping a foot on the edge of the tub, I took a long swig of grape to fortify myself against the mindless incompetence. "Spill it, Rover. How'd you screw up?"

"No girl." Absently, the werewolf lapped at the ragged slash on the back of his hand. "There was no girl there," he repeated defensively, licking his wounds both literally and figuratively. "Only men with swords. Many men."

There was a lie in there, maybe two. I could smell it. Cal would've been able to, and thus so could I. "No girl, you say." That, I was guessing, was the first lie. She'd been there all right. No reason for Niko to be standing guard if she hadn't been. Ruminatively, I tapped the mouth of the bottle against my chin. Now, as for the second lie. "A whole slew of sword-wielding, bloodthirsty men, all to defeat your worthless ass. Don't you rate? Where's the girlfriend?"

"Dead." There was a brief spark in his eyes. Fury, sorrow, loss. "She fell… from the roof. Jumped one of the bastards, but he dodged—" He shook his head, shaggy hair falling to cover his eyes. "Gone. All gone. Tried for revenge. But too many."

"Too many." I stood, the water cascading down me. "Tell me again how many. Tell me again how many is too goddamn many." The bottle I hurled at the wall exploded into purple-coated shrapnel. It wasn't as sharp as the rage whirling inside of me. The Auphe weren't the only ones that didn't like to get their way. "Because you know what? I'm thinking that number is only one."

The werewolf's lips peeled back to reveal clotted black blood and a still impressive set of choppers. Then the bravado shriveled and his head hung low. "My girl. My beautiful girl." The back of his hand made a pass at his nose. "Two. There were two. Human. Other. They took my sweet girl from me."

Two. Niko was one. Goodfellow would be the other. That son of a bitch was starting to annoy me. Why that stupid rabbit wouldn't run, I had no idea. It was enough to make me lose my temper, and I liked to think of myself as an easygoing guy. I took a step and felt a sliver of pain stab through my instep. Hissing, I reached down and pulled a shard of bloody glass free. Flimsy body. It was a side effect I didn't find too pleasant. One more annoyance, but it wasn't as bad as the one echoing in my ears. Wolfgang was howling now. It was a mourning song for his lost love, plaintive and haunting as the stars' last cry before the universe winked out. Wistful. Lost.